


Shinjuku Station

by gurajiorasu



Category: Arashi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 09:32:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2383403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gurajiorasu/pseuds/gurajiorasu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shinjuku Station was a place to arrive, a place to depart. A place to commute daily, and a place to transit.<br/>It was never anyone’s destination, just a place to get through.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shinjuku Station

Shinjuku Station was nothing but busy. A sea of human in an almost literal meaning. You can practically swim through all other people’s limbs.

Shinjuku Station was a place to arrive, a place to depart. A place to commute daily, and a place to transit.  
It was never anyone’s destination, just a place to get through.

Matsumoto Jun, a prominent young lad, working hard in his wake and planning future in his sleep, was one of Shinjuku Station’s regular. He was just another passer-by - come in time, leave in time - never even once he took the time to stop and observe.  
It was just another station, after all.

But universe wasn’t universe if it had nothing to twist and spice up the particular stoic guy.  
A bump on the shoulder and scattered papers on the ground resulted in a minute too late for one Matsumoto Jun. A minute too late, twenty minutes to wait.

 _Great_ , Matsumoto cursed in his head while retreating to save himself from a horde of other train’s passengers, _just great._  
He sighed and lean on one wall, arranging his breath to ease his slightly angered self.

Matsumoto scanned through the crowd and huffed even more. There was nothing to look at. Everyone was the same; just another busy people trying to get on the train first.  
Suited up workers, uniformed students, tired moms - Matsumoto eyed them all while resting his shoulder for a while.  
His eyes stopped when a figure looked all different from the others.

Matsumoto’s brows quirked up, the figure caught his attention. The figure was still, while the others were moving towards the track. The figure was leaning on a pillar and slightly hunched, focusing on something that was stuck between his arm and his stomach, and looking around every once in a while, while the others were focusing on nothing but the train and schedules.  
The man was going on his own pace while his surroundings were blended on the same steady and hurried pace.

It was like the man was not in Shinjuku Station. It was like the man had his own world that Matsumoto couldn’t see.

Matsumoto’s eyes didn’t leave the man until his train was ready to take him home.

*******

The next day, Matsumoto took a moment to check on the same spot where he found the Station Guy - as he decided to address the man in his head - and to his surprise, he found him. The man was leaning on the same pillar, holding the same something, and looked like he was doing the same thing.

Matsumoto had a weird urge to come to the man, to ask for his name or just to see what he was doing. He was too enchanting for Matsumoto to ever ignore anymore, like he was pulling him with a mysterious inviting aura.

A minute passed and his right foot was already moving towards the man.  
But then, his train came.

*******

It was the third day and Matsumoto deliberately came five minutes earlier. He felt funny, he felt silly, but he did it anyway.

Matsumoto walked straight to that one pillar and there he was - the Station Guy.

Matsumoto planned to start a conversation with the guy if he met him.  
He did meet the man, but his words died in his throat. He just giddily stood there instead, stealing a glance or two to the thing that was carried by the Station Guy.

It was a sketchbook.

The Station Guy was drawing something that Matsumoto couldn’t see. His slender fingers were gripping his pencil in a beautiful angle and seemed like he was precisely forming a stunning figure on the paper.

Matsumoto was too mesmerized that he missed his train. He didn’t mind to wait another twenty minutes, though.

Even if it was spent in total silence.

*******

Matsumoto arranged a thousand alternative sentences in his head on his way from his office to Shinjuku Station. He couldn’t shake the Station Guy and his weird demeanor out of his head, _probably talking with him would do the trick,_ he thought.

He decided that he would go with a simple _hey, nice drawing you got there._  
His heart beat a little bit faster of anticipation. Or something else, he wouldn’t want to know.

Matsumoto had a hard time to focus himself as he walked closer to the familiar place. He almost turned to the wrong direction, even.

He curled a little smile when he spotted the pillar.

He tried his best to look normal and to walk in his usual pace. He tried his best and he didn’t even know what for.

His heart was hollowed when the pillar was just a pillar. No Station Guy attached to it. No charming artist working his wonders there.

Matsumoto frowned and waited for his train. He alighted and looked out through the window when the fully loaded train departed.

His eyes caught a familiar figure.

The Station Guy was there, throwing the most peaceful smile when their eyes met.

Matsumoto scolded himself internally for getting the wrong pillar.

*******

Smile. Matsumoto got a smile and he was really convinced that the smile was intended for him.

Matsumoto was nothing but professional, but he was scolded three times the next day for daydreaming and grinning non-stop.

 _“Don’t act like a teenage girl in love, Useless!”_ his coworker mocked him. It was a little bit more than rude but Matsumoto couldn’t care less.  
He got a smile, his friends could nag at him for the whole day and he wouldn’t even be mad.  
He didn’t entirely disagree to his coworker’s words, anyway.

 _I’m certainly not a teenage girl,_ he smiled even wider, _but the ‘in love’ part might be true._  
Matsumoto chuckled and slapped himself. _Nah, don’t be silly, Jun!_

Matsumoto was practically flying to Shinjuku Station that evening. The arranged words from the day before were tucked neatly, ready to be said.

Matsumoto eased himself through the crowd, heading to the pillar.  
The Station Guy wasn’t there.

Matsumoto giggled. _Wrong pillar again, Jun? Really?_

He went to the next pillar. And the next. And the next.  
His smile was fading out after every pillar.

His smile was long gone when his train arrived.

The Station Guy wasn’t there.  
Even when Matsumoto scanned through the station from inside the train as the train was leaving, he couldn’t find him.

The Station Guy was really not there.

*******

Friday came. The fifth day since Matsumoto met the Station Guy.

He excused himself an hour earlier, saying that he had an appointment to attend to.  
He was lying, obviously. He just wanted to see the Station Guy. A part of him was having a bad feeling, like he was afraid that the Station Guy was already left. For good.

He waited in front of the pillar. The right pillar - he checked it three times already.

His heart deflated as the time went by. Many people came and went away, but none of them was the Station Guy.  
Everyone was just another tired and busy people, trying to get into their trains.

Matsumoto started to get angry with himself. _I should talk with him earlier,_ he hissed to himself internally.

His usual train left and his shoulder was slumped further than he could ever remember.  
He was disappointed, he was somehow sad. It was like he just found a light that could penetrate his boring life, and that light was snatched away just before he could savor it.

Matsumoto could feel that his life was dragged into the same dark monotone routine again.

He gave up and stepped into the next train. He was the last to enter, standing right in front the door.  
He looked down to his feet, felt defeated and drained out.

The door was closing and a rushed steps heard. Someone was running, Matsumoto knew that. Someone was running to get into the train, but Matsumoto couldn’t care less about that.

A man entered the train right before the door was closed properly. His body was smashed to Matsumoto’s, an effect of his dashing act.

Matsumoto was about to complain and yell at the man, but when he looked up his words died in his throat again.  
It was the Station Guy.

Matsumoto was stunned. His body was pressed to the Station Guy’s, thanks for the over-crowded train. They were so close. _Too_ close that they were practically breathing the same air.

It was too much for Matsumoto’s sanity. He forgot how to speak, he forgot how to breathe, he forgot how to think at all.

He could only gape and stare. The man’s calm eyes and the man’s subtle scent overwhelmed him.

Matsumoto was convinced that he was not functional anymore. He even forgot how to become a human.

The man stared back and chuckled but maybe Matsumoto was just imagining it. He couldn’t differ anymore.

Four stops later, no word was uttered. But it was Matsumoto’s stop so he had to get out. Not that he wanted to, his body was just reacting to the announcer’s voice automatically.

He was already outside the train when he regained his control over his body. He turned around and the door was already closing.

A square thing was shoved to his hand. His mind was still trying to process it but the door was already closed and the train was already moving again.

The last thing he saw was the Station Guy smiling at him. From inside the moving train.

*******

Matsumoto vaguely thought that he was just imagining everything, but the square thing - the Station Guy’s sketchbook - in his hand proved that he was not.

Matsumoto didn’t even make it through the genkan. His legs were shaky and his heartbeats were insanely fast.

With a trembling hand, Matsumoto opened the sketchbook.

A drawing of the station revealed. The detail of the crowd was amazing, the shades were perfect.

Matsumoto flipped the page.

Another drawing of the station revealed. It was Shinjuku Station at its finest - crowded and busy and all. It was very similar to the first drawing, but something was standing out.  
There was a person who was drawn with more detail than the others. The person was still, unlike the others. The person was staring.

Matsumoto felt something funny in his stomach. Butterflies would be an understatement. It might be a dinosaur or a tsunami.  
He flipped the page again.

It was another drawing. But it was not Shinjuku Station anymore. It was a sketch of hands sketching on a sketchbook, a pair of shoes was shown underneath the drawn sketchbook. It was a sketch of the sketcher, seen from the sketcher’s perspective while sketching it.  
Matsumoto’s breath hitched when he noticed another pair of shoes and another hand were sketched beside the sketcher’s.  
It was Matsumoto’s shoes. It was Matsumoto’s hand.

Matsumoto was sprawled on the floor by then. His heart was back-flipping and cart-wheeling.  
He flipped the page again. A lot of anticipation bubbled in his chest.

Matsumoto’s heart was having a sudden stop from all the acrobatic sensations.  
The last drawing was himself, looking out from the moving train.

Matsumoto rubbed his eyes, but it was certainly him. The wavy but neat hair, the little mole under his lips, the sharp jawline and the sharp gaze; it was all him.

Under the perfectly detailed drawing, Matsumoto found a note.

_“I came here to draw Shinjuku Station, I swear. But you gradually took my attention away._

_The same pillar, Saturday, 4 PM? I promise I won’t waste my time sketching this time._

_\- Ohno Satoshi”_

Shinjuku Station was a place to arrive, a place to depart. A place to commute daily, and a place to transit.  
It was never anyone’s destination, just a place to get through.

But that Saturday, Shinjuku Station was Matsumoto’s only destination.


End file.
